Deflection
by Lafayette1777
Summary: After the Fischer Job, Arthur has taken Cobb's place as the most skilled Extractor. When he's reeled into a new job, the most challenging of his career, he must assemble a new team and confront his past to get the job done. Rated T for language!
1. Alone

Three years after surviving the greatest accomplishment of his career, Arthur found himself very alone.

Standing in front of the London architecture firm, he wished he could be anywhere else. He wished he didn't have to confront her. They had parted ways, hadn't they? Why couldn't that be enough? But he'd never known a better architect, and he was going to need a damn good one for what he was going to have to do this time.

The lobby is modern, and expensive looking. Of course, this architectural firm was one of the most successful in London, they could afford anything they wanted.

"I'm here to see Ariadne Hill." Arthur said to the receptionist, somewhat self- consciously. The woman picked up the desk phone and spoke softly into it.

"Yes, there's a man here to see you...about 5'11'', expensive looking black suit and briefcase, black hair, really small eyes." Arthur swore under his breath. There was no mistaking him now. Would she even bother to see him? It _had_ been a year and a half, maybe she would talk to him without hitting him. The woman continued. "Really? I thought he looked familiar... okay, I'll tell him."

The receptionist put down the phone, giving him a mocking smile, now that Ariadne had filled her in on there history, or the amended version of it, he supposed. "She'll be right down."

Arthur sat down in a shiny black leather chair to wait. He chose a spot where he could see all corners of the room, all vantage points. He was the most skilled extractor in the world, he needed to keep his eyes open.

Five minutes later she appeared, looking much the same as she had when he'd last seen her. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny that. Her dark hair still neat and wavy, eyes still shining. She looked at him with distaste as he rose from his perch on the seat to meet her.

"There's a cafe across the street, we'll talk there." She said simply. No greetings, no hand shake, no "How you been the two years, ex-lover?"

She lead the way out the glass front doors, and they crossed the street in silence. They sat down at an outside table and stared at eachother. He took her in. She was so..._healthy_ looking, even with the accusing look in her eyes, the tense set of her lips, the lips he knew so well...

"So, what do you want?"

He met her intense brown eyes.

"Your help."

"No. I'm done, Arthur. I told you that when we broke up. I can't live like that. I _won't _live like that. My life is straight now. I've gotta good job, I'm doing what I love. I..." She looked around. No one was paying attention to them. "I don't need dreaming anymore."

He knew she'd say that. He remembered her mental state in the last few months of there relationship. She'd been depressed, to say the least. She'd lost the ability to dream normally, like Arthur had a long time ago. With Cobb gone, Arthur had become world renowned in extraction with Ariadne as his partner, and as his missions got hairier and hairier, they were put in more and more danger. Ariadne had decided that she couldn't live in such a unstable manner, and had started to ask questions like "Where is this relationship going?" and "How are we ever going to find peace?". She wanted to quit dreaming and live a normal life, waiting for everyone to forget they exist. Arthur couldn't do that. No matter how much he loved Ariadne, he couldn't give up the thrill of vivid dreaming, being at the top of his profession. What would he do in the real world? Become an accountant? A dental hygienist? The subconscious was his calling.

And so they'd gone their own ways, and not on good terms in the slightest. It had ended explosively, with her storming out of the hotel room in tears after exchanging harsh, loud words with Arthur. The memories of that night were painful, he couldn't remember how long he'd stared at the door waiting for her to come back, and when she didn't, contemplating when he should go beg for forgiveness. He never did.

And here they were.

"One last mission. Then I will never talk to you ever again. You're the best architect I ever knew. That's all I ask, Ariadne."

She sighed heavily, curiosity getting the best of her. "What is it?"

"Deflection."

She blinked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm lying to you. I just wanted to drag you out here in the middle of your workday to have this awkward, tense, conversation with you. You got me."

She took an angry breath. "If you don't think I'll walk out of here right now..."

"Okay, okay," He interrupts her. "It is possible, but _very_ difficult. That's why I need you."

She's already shaking her head before he's finished his sentence. "No, Arthur! I'm not gonna let you suck me back into this shit! Just leave me alone."

He reached down to pick up his briefcase and started to get to his feet. "Obviously I have wasted my time in coming here. Sorry to inconvenience you Ariadne, I just thought... never mind."

He starts to walk away.

"Wait." Ariadne called to him, regret in her voice. He smiled to himself then turned to face her. He knew she would do that.

"I have names." She choked out. Arthur sat back down. "For the first few months after we split, people would still come looking for an architect, until I made it clear I would not be involved." She grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen from her pocket in one, swift motion. "Are heard these names mentioned. I'm sure you'll be able to find them on your own."

He looked at the strange names.

_November Patel_

_Juliet Butler_

_Butler_

"Patel is a genius. She hasn't dreamed yet, but she has enormous potential. She has two phds and can hold her own in a fight. The other two are brother and sister, Butler's first name is a carefully guarded secret. His sister's isn't but they're both blue diamond, so, you know what that means. For Deflection you're going to need some sort of protection, and they have training in dreaming." Ariadne finished.

Arthur gazed at her for a moment. "Thank you, Ariadne. This is exactly what I need." He stood, and was nearly gone when he heard his name again.

Her expression was meaningful, and confusing. "And Arthur, I...I hope you find what you're looking for."

He nodded and disappeared.

Author note: There's the first chapter, I'll update soon. There is going to be a tiny crossover in this story, but since it's going to be almost entirely inception, I decided to post here instead. For those of you who are Artemis Fowl fans you've already spotted my reference to the Butler's. The song that I think of for this chapter is "After all that, it's come to this" By Amos the Transparent, which is a pretty kick ass song. Please review! :)


	2. A Rich Man's Proposition

Three days before:

"Sir, Arthur Whindleton is here."

"Ah, good. Send him in."

Laurence Dale relaxed in his leather desk chair, and cleared his massive mahogany desk. His office was on the top floor of the Dale Industries skyscraper. Two of the four walls were tinted glass, looking out over downtown New York City. He loved his view. He sometimes found it the highlight of his day, looking out over the city he practically owned. His real estate business was widespread, his was the first name someone thought of one when buying, developing, then selling properties. Well, second, behind _his_ company...

He was interrupted from his thoughts as a medium sized man in an expensive looking suit with slick black hair was shown into his office. Arthur showed no emotion at the grand office. With his reputation, he'd no doubt seen better. Laurence didn't find that amusing.

"Please, take a seat." Arthur took a silent seat in the modern chair in front of the desk. He waited. This was one matter that was not to be rushed

"You are here because you are the best at what you do. And for what I want done, I need the best."

Arthur waited.

"You were part of the team that performed inception on Robert Fischer, correct?"

Arthur was disturbed that this man knew that, but he nodded.

"What I need done is Deflection."

Arthur's eyebrows raised, ever so slightly. "Elaborate."

"Dale Industries largest competitor is Benford Enterprises. The leader of the company is Darlene Simcoe, she is the life of the company. Without her, they would lose any lead they have on us in sales. Obviously, you realize what I want. She needs to decide to leave the company."

"And she has already been incepted?"

"Back in the nineties, just as Benford was starting to actually be profitable, Simcoe left the company to pursue another interest. The person who took her place, as the company started to sink, realized he may need to take drastic measures to make things right. He called in a team, and they successfully changed her mind and she came back quickly. As I'm sure you're aware of, a person can be incepted twice, the idea can only be tweaked. This is what I need done. Can you do it? I can assure you that there will be considerably payment, if you succeed."

Arthur thought. This was nearly impossible, he'd never heard of anyone even attempting Deflection. But then again, that is what he'd said about inception...

"Can I give you my answer in 3 days? I would like to do some more research and give you an informed evaluation."

"Of course."

Arthur left without a word.


	3. Opinions

Arthur felt like intruder, standing in front of his door, bringing up past memories. His hand raised to knock, and hesitated. He didn't need to do this, really. He knew _how_ one was supposed to perform deflection. It was his paranoia that brought him here. He _needed_ another opinion, of someone he trusted a million times over, someone who had dropped off the face of the Earth three years ago.

Without further worries, he rapped on the door three times.

He heard the pounding of feet on wood floors. The door opened. Cobb smiled at him, the only time Arthur had seen him truly happy. To Arthur's surprise, the older man pulled him into a hug.

"Good to see you again, Arthur. Please, come in."

Cobb lead him inside. He heard the sound of children's voices, and a man with a british accent. The two men sat down at the rosy dining room table. The house was neat, well decorated. Arthur recognized small parts of it, details Cobb must have used in his dreams before Mal was gone.

"So, what brings you here?"

It take Arthur a moment to try to figure out how to speak, taking in Cobb's new moral. "I...I have a question, I suppose."

"I'll answer it in a moment, but first, I have to ask. Why didn't you come visit all these years? After the Fischer job, you just disappeared. I looked for you, but you're a hard man to find, Arthur. Everyone else actually came to visit."

"You, you wanted to see me again?"

"You weren't just a business partner. You were, and still are, a friend and one of the smartest people I know."

Arthur managed to catch his jaw before it dropped. Cobb considered him a friend? What the hell was going on? Arthur had always thought Cobb was his friend, but he never thought the feelings might be mutual. He assumed he was just a phase of Cobb's life, one that was over with. The day had just gotten weirder and weirder...

"It's been a...complicated few years." Arthur choked out.

Cobb looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

Arthur nodded, lying without even realizing it. "My question is about Deflection."

Cobb didn't even look surprised. Arthur knew he would have done it for Mal, except that back then the concept wasn't even heard of.

"It's possible, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you already knew that." Cobb said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No thanks. How long would deflection take?"

"As long as inception, if you do it right. You can only tweak an idea so much. Basically, when you go in, and you'll need three levels without a doubt, you'll have someone design the dream, and the subject, will fill a safe somewhere in the level with the form of the idea that was planted on that level originally. It will be an object, or might just be written on a piece of paper. You'll will change one aspect of the idea, and replace it in the safe. You can do very little, otherwise it won't take. You change more and more as you go down. In theory it's actually simpler than inception, just... more delicate, you could say. The idea has already taken place, it's entirely possible that's it's too late to change anything."

Arthur took this in. It was exactly what he had needed, the confirmation from his mentor that he was correct- deflection was in his grasp.

He stood. "Thank you, Cobb."

"You're leaving already?"

"'Fraid so."

"Will you be back?"

"If it doesn't put you and your family in danger, this is not the last time you'll see me."


	4. Visited

The warehouse was empty.

A window was broken, the shards of glass strewn across the gray concrete floor. The old furniture was where it had been three years before. Unmoved, unchanged, gathering dust. The plastic beach chairs were still gathered in a rough semi circle, all 7 still looping around a table in the middle where the machine would have been. The air inside is frigid, it had been summer the last time he was here, and daytime. He was alone, without a doubt, yet he felt a presence somewhere in the warehouse's walls. No one would have made it inside, the windows were too high up, the doors solid metal. The broken window was no doubt caused by a drunken man's stone. The only way to get in would have to have been with a key, and only six other people in the world had one of those. He couldn't have imagined any one of them needing to stand in the middle of an empty warehouse, like he did right now.

That's why Arthur thinks he must be hallucinating when he hears the footsteps coming toward him, he automatically pulls out the hand gun he has with him at all times.

When the light is flicked on, Arthur's gun is in Eames' stunned face.

"Jesus, Eames. What the fuck are you doing here?" He lowered the gun, but it didn't leave his hands.

"Same reason you are, no doubt." Eames says. He takes a hesitant step toward Arthur. "Reliving the 'glory days' so to speak. Am I right?"

"No. I need the space again."

Eames' eyebrows raised. "What _are_ you up to, Arthur?

"Something you don't need to know about."

"Oh, Arthur, darling, don't be that way."

"Why should I not? I don't consider you someone I can trust, much less a friend. And foremost, I don't want you anywhere near my job."

"My, my, harsh words. But I know you don't mean them. Your intention is much appreciated, though. And I'm sure you've figured out by now that in no way will I leave you alone until you tell me what you're doing."

"What are you, six years old?"

"I always thought children had the best ideas when it came to bargaining."

"You're a complete asshole Eames. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently."

c c c

20 minutes later, they sat side by side on the plastic chairs.

Arthur took the cigarette offered to him. He wasn't the smoking type, but occasionally he succumbed to peer pressure.

"So business has been good to you, eh?" Eames said, lighting up his cig.

"You could say that, but no one else is."

"I hear you're now the most skilled extractor out there."

"Only because Cobb's gone." He took a long, melancholy drag from his cigarette.

"Rather large shoes to fill."

"He did have weirdly big feet, if I do say so myself."

Though it was a pathetic joke to say the least, but they both broke out in laughter. It felt good to be in the presence of another human being, no matter what there past.

"So, I'm guessing you've had a rough couple of years." Arthur commented when they could breathe again.

Eames hesitated. "Bloody terrible few years. Can't find any decent work. The only reason I'm not on the streets right now is because of Saito's payment. My life's a living hell."

"You mean no one wants to hire an obnoxious, douche bag, alcoholic forger?"

Eames snorted. "It would seem not. But I still have hope. If people are willing to hire an unimaginative, emotionless, high strung burke, than the business world is really getting desperate, and soon I'll be all they have left."

Arthur laughed. "Fuck you, Eames."

Eames grinned. "Of course."

"Wait, what?"

"Anyway," Eames continued. "You _still_ haven't told me what you're up to."

Arthur's eyes lost all amusement. "I've been asked to perform deflection."

Eames' jaw dropped. "Holy shit, Arthur! You didn't think this was worth mentioning to me, say, 20 minutes ago?"

Arthur shrugged and didn't meet his gaze.

"I want in." Arthur expected this.

"Fuck, no."

"Come on, Arthur. You know I need work. I may be an asshole, but you can't deny I'm a fucking good forger. And for something as big as deflection, you're gonna need all the help you can get."

Arthur sighed. He had to admit, he wouldn't mind having someone familiar with him to do this. "Fine. Just _try _to act professional, will you?"

"No can do, Arthur." Eames held up his arms and let out a victory whoop, while Arthur stared at his shoes, the early stages of regret already kicking in.


	5. Surprises and Expectations

The flight from Paris to Rhode Island was long, but made shorter by their lavish first class seats. Arthur spent his time looking through the file of research he'd made on November Patel.

Her family had moved from India when she was two years old. She'd gone to MIT and Harvard Business school. It was after that she'd mysteriously dropped under the radar. But a little extra prodding on Arthur's part had uncovered her current status.

She was a computer hacker. Exceptionally gifted. The most powerful companies were paying her for espionage by the first year she was in the game. If she couldn't get into someone's personal data remotely, she'd break in without a trace. She called her business RoseThorn Enterprises, and all of her business dealings were untraceable. She'd never told an employer her real name, and her place of residence changed every few months. Arthur was lucky to have been able to gain any access to her files at all, her personal documents were so well hidden. The computers she used were nearly impossible to access. In the last few years there'd been payments made on shooting classes, beginner through expert advanced, as well as several years of intense martial arts classes, where she achieved 2nd degree black belt. Obviously, this women could kick ass if she wanted to. The government had been looking the other way when it came to her dealings, just as they had been with the majority of Extractions. He could see exactly why Ariadne had recommended her: she'd been living like the average extractor for years.

He'd managed to uncover one photo of her, a passport picture from a few years ago. She had straight black hair, and creamy caramel skin. She had a prominent nose and chocolate brown eyes. She had a nice smile, he thought.

Eames looked over Arthur's shoulder at the file. His eyebrows raised at the picture, and he whistled, cutting through the silence of the first class cabin. Arthur rolled his eyes as several glares turned in their direction.

"Do you mind?" He spat at Eames under his breath.

"Not at all."

Arthur put Patel's file away and pulled out the one he had made up on the Butlers. He guessed that Juliet would be more willing. She seemed more rambunctious. Over the last few years she'd strayed from her intended profession as bodyguard, and gone to be a mixed martial arts fighter in Mexico. That's where she was now. Her brother, on the other hand, who had a current principal and was committed to his job, seemed out of reach. Arthur hadn't bothered with him. Juliet would be more than necessary for what they had planned, and with four people they'd manage to get the job done.

The plane landed in Rhode Island, and the small New England state's overcast skies did not surprise the two men.

"Cab or rental?" Eames asked as they stood on the curb in front of the terminal.

"Rental shouldn't be necessary. If she says yes, we'll be done quickly. If she says no, we'll also be done quickly."

"Wouldn't you try to convince her?"

"She is a very good team member, but I wouldn't try to force this upon anybody if they'd told me no once."

Eames shrugged in answer and waved down a cab.

c c c

The apartment building was narrow and seemed to be a concerted three story house, as much of Providence's housing seemed to be. To Arthur's surprise, the front door was unlocked, so they were free to walk up the sky blue, creaking stairs to the third floor landing.

Her door was old looking, painted an off white with paint chipping off. There was gold number tacked to it at about eye level, and Arthur noticed, that despite the expected 3 that would have put the three floors in numerical order, the gold number was 12. He wondered if she'd personalized it, or if it was just the odd ball apartment.

Arthur knocked and waited. Feet moved rapidly across the floor, and then paused in front of the door, presumably to take a look out of the peep hole. They waited, Eames fidgeting irritably the entire time.

Finally, the door creaked open, and there she stood, looking very similar to the passport photo he had of her, except not smiling.

"I'm-" Arthur began.

"Arthur Whindleton." She said with on eyebrow raised skeptically. She leaned against the doorway. "Bout time you showed up."


	6. Prior Knowledge

"You didn't think I was just gonna let you look in all my personal files, did you?" Patel had a smooth confident way of talking, like she'd already figured you out. She was, without a doubt, a business women.

"Well, than why did you let him, my dear?" Eames said, eyes sweeping over the apartment. The place was a complete wreck, clothes and various other object strewn all over the floor. A box of cereal on the table was completely poured out, and several shredded pieces of paper were spread over the wooden surface. She saw Eames' look of slight disgust and scowled.

"Some assholes raided my apartment last night while I was out working. Haven't had much time to put everything back together again. Probably gonna half to move again, though, but you guy would know all about that. Doesn't matter too much though, I was just staying here for a little while I got some things sorted out. It was the quickest thing I could find. " She paused. "Luckily the thieves took nothing of value. I'm much to paranoid for that. I can tell you that if I'd been there, they'd have gotten a face full of nine millimeter for this mess." She glanced toward the only neat corner of the main room, where there was a desk and four laptops open. Each was a different brand, Mac, PC, Toshiba, Dell, and they all looked very well cared for. "But anyway, I let you take a look at my stuff because I background checked you and found out what your profession is and all your close relations, figured out what you were looking at me for. If I'd thought you were gonna leak info to an employer, than I would have just destroyed your computer remotely. All my business is done anonymously, you know. No employer knows my name, or my face all communication is done through email. My bank accounts are completely private, I've made sure of that. I've mad modifications on my computers to make them completely untraceable. I move if I ever think someone's onto me, which is nearly impossible. My work is similar to yours in many ways, but mine is blatantly illegal. You get into to much of other people's business, the government will come and get you. I know that the government mostly looks the other way when it comes to your form of espionage. I was curious, that being human nature and all."

Arthur leaned forward in the old lavender chair he was sitting in. "And how much _do_ you know about our line of work?" He asked Patel. She had started picking articles of clothing from the faded wood floor to fold and put in a neat pile on the small couch next to her.

"Enough to know that you're not here to socialize, but to offer job. I don't know the details, but I do know that for shared dreaming ventures you need a very high IQ, which I have. My lifestyle is similar to yours, so I have the experience necessary, and I can fight. I may be wrong, the only informational documents I could find about the subject were written by people who had been deemed 'mentally insane' by their governments."

"You are right, to tell you the details, it would easier to show you rather than tell you. If you don't mind..." He tapped his briefcase.

"Oh, sure." She said. She cleared a space on the table. Eames pulled out the cords, one for himself and two for Arthur. He carefully inserted one into the blood vain in his own wrist, and then the other into Patel's. She didn't even wince as he stuck the needle in.

Once they were all comfortable, his hand hesitated over the button.

"Ready?" He asked her.

She nodded once, and they dreamt.

c c c

They were on a high cliff, over looking a massive lake. Arthur had come up with it on the spot. He thought it looked peaceful, like a place where it was impossible to worry about anything in an area of such natural beauty.

He told Patel everything there was to know about dreaming, starting with extraction, then inception, then graduating to the task at hand, deflection. She listened with a keen interest, none of the complex concepts seemed to confuse her at all. Of course she was used to math formulas and lines of code.

"So," She said, after Arthur thought he'd explained everything. "What exactly would my job be?"

"Part architect, part general idea tweaker." Eames said.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm very good at the math that goes along with architecture, but I'm very left brained." She said matter-of-factly. "Do you think I have the creativity that would be needed work these kind of raw materials into something that looks real?"

"We are very similar." Arthur said. "My creativity is limited. But your brain power makes up for it. You'll be able to grasp things quickly, which is a skill that every extractor needs. Probably one of their defining qualities, the reason they're in the business. Look at Eames. He's a dickhead, he'll admit it. But his IQ score is off the charts."

"How do you know my IQ scores?" Eames asked increduously.

Arthur smirked. "I do my research, Eames."

Patel chuckled at the interaction. "One more question."

"Shoot."

"How do you wake up in a dream, and what happens if you die?"

"I believe I can hit both of those words with one stone." Eames said. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his hand gun. Before Patel could duck, he'd shot her in the head, right between the eyes. Arthur barely had enough time to roll his eyes in irritation as a second gun shot rang out and he was awoken.

c c c

November eyes flew open and her entire body jolted in her seat. Her pupils must have been huge, and her hands were shaking, her breathing unsteady. _So that's how it feels to be shot..._ She thought.

Arthur looked at her with concern as she tried to get her heart rate back to normal.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

She nodded instinctively and began to calm herself down, one step at a time. "I'm good, I'm good."

Arthur glared at Eames. "Jesus Christ, Eames. You really think _that_ was necessary?"

"You said she was smart, she can handle it." Eames shot back.

After a few more glares and reassurances, Arthur returned to business. "So, would you like to join us? You don't have to make a complete career change. You can just work this one job, if you like."

November thought for a moment. It was a very unusual name, November, especially for someone of her descent. When she'd asked her mother all those years ago, her reply had stuck with her through all the troubles to come, because it was exactly the kind of thing her mother would say.

"_November is my favorite word in english." She had said. "I love the richness of it, it makes me think of affection, of warmth, for whatever reason."_

Of course, she'd said it all in Hindi, and that's how November remembered it, seeing as it is her first language.

November wonders briefly what her mother would think of the dishonest business her only daughter enjoyed so much.

Back to the question at hand, though, she looked Arthur straight in the eye.

"I cannot say I'm not interested, but I must ask, why should I? I make a ridiculous amount of money at my occupation, and am very happy with it. Why should I go out on this limb?" It was a standard question she always asked if she was doing any new piece of a job. She already wanted to join them, she just wanted to see what they'd say.

Without hesitation, Arthur answers. "Because there's nothing quite like it, It's... pure creation." He stops, and stares blankly into space for a moment. November has a sneaking suspicion that he may have said those words before...

She pretends like she's just made up her mind, leaving them a few seconds of suspense for good measure. "Okay, I'm in." She says simply.

"Lovely." Eames says, getting to his feet. Arthur still looked stunned at his own words, but he snapped out of it and got up, too. "Bring the bare minimum and meet us in front of the airport at 7 sharp. We have an international flight to catch at 9."

She lead them to the door, and Arthur paused before he followed Eames out of the messy little apartment.

"Good luck cleaning up your stuff." He said, and was gone.

November stared at the third floor landing for a long time after that, wondering what fresh hell she may have gotten herself into.


	7. Watching the Fight

They boarded the 8:45 flight to Mexico City at 9:00.

Due to the small delay, they ended up missing their connection in Houston. So, they arrived in Houston at 2:30 am, waiting for the next flight to Mexico at 7:00 am.

Tired and irritable, they slumped in the airport's leather chairs before heading to the first class lounge to try rest. November wore loose jeans and a yellow top and carried with her a black Swiss Gear backpack, which she had put in two laptops and had cushioned them with articles of clothing.

Eames rubbed his eyes as he checked texts on his cell phone. His eyebrows raised and he leaned toward Arthur.

"Yusuf says he sent the personalized sedative to the warehouse in Paris. Should get there about the time we get back."

"Good." Arthur said, his voice rough from lack of use. "Lets go get some sleep."

They trudged toward the lounge and crashed on the unoccupied couches.

In the morning, still sleep deprived, they found an airport coffee shop and ate a light breakfast as they discussed things.

"Eames," Arthur said. "Do you think I should contact Florence? I think we're cutting it a bit close with four people on this job. And Florence, she would be an exceptionally valuable asset."

"I think it would be worth the phone call. If she's not busy, she'd be great to have. Honestly, she's one of the best people to work with. She might cancel out the agony of having daily contact with you." Eames laughed softly at his own joke and took a sip of his black coffee.

"Play nice, boys." November added distractedly, only half paying attention. She had one of her laptops open, as usual.

Arthur was satisfied with his new recruit. Ariadne couldn't have picked a better person. Already, November was an important part of the team, and a responsible person to work with. She was calm, quiet, but forceful when the need arose. So far, under any kind of pressure, she had been just as one should be: Levelheaded.

Their flight began to board, and they took their first class seats.

"You fly much?" Arthur asked November.

"I suppose, compared to most people. But not as much as you guys." She said. She shut down her laptop and dug around in her bag till she found a hard backed novel.

"Oh, yeah. That reminds me, I forgot to tell you something. You'll need a totem."

"And that is...?"

"A small object only you know the exact weight and secrets of. Something that'll tell you whether your in someone else's dream or not. Only you would know what your totem feels like."

"What's yours?"

Arthur reached into his pocket and produced his red die. "It's loaded."

"What about Eames?"

Eames leaned forward from the row of seats behind them. "It's this." He said, holding up a small dream catcher, about an inch in diameter. "I made it, so it has it's own share of secrets."

"Other examples are a spinning top, a small wooden statue, a piece of jewelry, a personal diary, a weighted chess piece..."

"Ahh." November replied, and was silent while she contemplated what she should do for a totem. Well there was the compass...she decided to think about it when she had slept longer than 5 hours.

An hour and a half later, they landed in Mexico City. There, autumn had not set in yet, and the temperature easily reached 90 degrees in the direct sun. They rented a car and headed toward their destination, a training gym for mixed martial arts fighters downtown.

The building was old, the painted white bricks fading and cracking. There was no sign, but they didn't need one. It was obvious what the place was by the size and body language of those walking in and out.

"This was the only address you could get?" Eames asked nervously.

"She trains here and lives upstairs." November replied. The building had two stories, the second having a tiny wrought iron balcony over looking the street.

Without further adieu, they headed inside.

The gym was packed full of larger sweaty fighters, wailing on punching bags and eachother. In the center there was an arena of sorts, where a nimble looking blonde women was kicking the ass of a muscled guy three times her size. He would throw a punch, but where it should have landed, was the dust that she'd left behind.

"Her fighting name is The Jade Princess." November said, as all of them stared at the women in awe. "I saw her on a dozen billboards on the way in."

The trio maneuvered their way through the dangerous crowd toward the octagon, and waited for the inevitable end to the fight. The guy was dragged off the floor, out cold. The Jade Princess climbed out of the ring, leaping to her bottle of water and towel, though she'd barely broken a sweat.

They moved toward her, into the little corner she occupied, away from the other fighters. She looked up as they approached.

"Juliet Butler." Arthur began. "We need to talk to you."

_Author's Note: The character of Juliet is from the Artemis Fowl series, and all right to her goes to Eoin Colfer. Just wanna make that clear, because I could never think up someone as awesome as Juliet._


	8. Yet Another Team Member

In the small, hot apartment, the trio stand out awkwardly.

Juliet doesn't pick up on this, or atleast choses not to. She is very much her own person.

The apartment appears to be old, but it might just look like that because it's not what you'd call neat, and none of the furniture matches.

The couch is small, red with blue stripes. Across from it are two wooden chairs around an old scratched table. There's a tiny dining table, piled high with sparring equipment. The kitchen is small and outdated, all in soft shades of white and chrome. The only attractive thing about the abode are the big, sunny windows that are half covered by heavy red blinds, letting in rays of afternoon city sunlight. Mexico City is surrounded by mountains, which unfortunately traps the air pollution in the city.

Arthur, Eames, and November took uncomfortable seats until Juliet emerged from her tiny kitchen with a glass of water. She wiped the tiniest bit of perspiration and waited expectantly. Her blonde hair is bouncy and has streaks of brown in it, her eyes a vivid green. She wears work out shorts and a sports bra and is well muscled and confident. This is not a women to tangle with.

"We have a proposition for you." Arthur said.

"I know. I got your phone message." She narrowed her eyes. "I assume you have some idea who my brother is, and what he can do, so if this is not what it seems, I suggest you get the hell out of my house if you value your skin."

"I can assure you that we will be completely honest with you." Arthur reassured. "You have some sort of training in extraction, yes?"

Juliet nodded. "It was a part of the Blue Diamond training. I'm not a master, but I know the fundamentals well enough."

"That's all we need." Arthur smiled, but just barely. "Do you know what deflection is?"

"The tweaking of an idea that has been planted in someone's self conscious." She shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know much about it."

"We can tell you all of that stuff. But what we're really concerned with in this job is whether or not you can hold your own in a fight and protect others. Judging by your profession, I think you can."

"That is something I most definitely can do." She said, smiling confidently. "If protection is all you need, than I'll do it. What kind of pay are we looking at?"

"A shit load."

"And hours?"

"2 weeks. Most of it will be planning, the actual job will be less than a day."

"Ok, then." She grinned. Arthur guessed that Juliet Butler was not as cold as she appeared to be, friendlier than she'd let on to total strangers.

Arthur introduced each of them and their professions. She shook each of her hands, and gave Eames a flirty smile, as he stared at her like she was God's gift to men.

Two hours later they were on a flight to Paris.

_Author's Note: Ok, reasonably short chapter but more soon to come. Once again, Juliet Butler and the Blue Diamond stuff are not mine, but Eoin Colfer's (Artemis Fowl). And of course I don't own Inception._


	9. Waiting

Back in the warehouse in Paris, someone was waiting for them.

She was very tall, atleast six feet, and very physically capable. Her hands were huge and tough. She had darkish skin and black hair in braids. She was beautiful, and intimidating, and fascinating all at the same time. She spoke with a gentle, deep french accent.

"Florence!" Arthur cried out. "Great to see you again." He reached up to hug her. Eames did the same.

"What have you been up to?" The englishmen asked.

"Not much, not much. The usual extractions. It must have been ...4 years since our last job together? Ahhh...the Potter Job. That was fucking crazy! But when I got your phone call, Arthur, I must say I was intrigued."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Arthur grinned. "This is November Patel, a hacker, and Juliet Butler, a mixed martial arts fighter."

Florence shook both of their hands firmly and smiled warmly. "Your team has a rather diverse skill set." She commented. "A very important thing, whne doing something as tricky as deflection will be."

"That's why we need you." Arthur said. "You're the best at figuring these kind of things out, and a kick ass team member, no matter what the job." Florence Weaver's skill set was endless.

Florence looked embarrassed. "You make me sound so much better than I truly am." She said, looking at the floor. "Have you heard word from Cobb? I heard he was retiring." She quickly changed the subject.

"Yes, Eames and I have seen him a times, but he is very preoccupied with his kids. I'm happy for him. The Fischer Job was his ticket home." Arthur answered.

"That is good to hear."

It was close to midnight, and Arthur felt the tired weight on his shoulders from jet lag combined with the late hour. They would all be staying different hotels- you couldn't be too careful when putting together a group of extractors, hackers, and blue diamonds.

They dispersed to their hotels, equally tired.

c c c

The days passed quickly, then slowly, then quickly again.

Each morning, Arthur would come in with one of the PASIVs, expecting to be the first one, and each morning he would be beaten there by November. She was always doing something different, but was always sitting on a table. One morning she'd be reading a massive novel, the next morning she'd be whittling a small stick with a machete. The morning after that, she'd be lying on her back, earbuds in her ears, eyes closed.

They had a casual schedule, the five of them. They's start with planning the job itself, they were always fresher in the morning and one needed to be fresh for this. After a quick lunch they do sparring and target practice to keep their skills sharp. Darlene Simcoe, there subject, was known to be a tricky bitch and they knew her subconscious had been militarized.

November and Arthur would always end up staying late, claiming to be cleaning up but really just talking. They could talk for hours, about nothing or about everything. They found solace in each other.

Meanwhile, Arthur was picking up on the plainly obvious sexual tension between Eames and Juliet. Any situation involving the two of them was awkward for everyone else. Arthur's suspicions were confirmed when Juliet came in one morning wearing the same clothes she had worn the day before, and Eames was even more loud mouthed and boisterous then usual.

Florence rolled her eyes as Eames and Juliet strolled in to the warehouse, a good hour late then the previously scheduled meeting time.

"We were busy." Eames offered, and Arthur heard November snicker at the man's pathetic attempt of any excuse. As if he even wanted to cover it up.

"Anyway, moving on." Arthur continued, and everyone took a seat. They'd been designing the dream levels. Unfortunately, they didn't know what ideas had originally been planted, so they couldn't plan what they would change them to until they were looking at it.

Arthur had done the basic layouts, while Florence and November worked on the details. The first layer was an old apartment building, with big hardwood staircases and peeling paint. The second would be a temperate forest with a cottage in the center. The third was a corporate skyscraper in tones of gray and blue.

Luckily, Darlene Simcoe was taking a eleven hour flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo soon on business. She preferred to fly commercially then take a company jet, saying that "I would never want to take so much money from the company for my own luxuries". Though she did always fly first class, no matter how long the flight.

The day passed slowly. It was a crisp January day in Paris, the coldness of the air making everything seem sharper in focus, the air smelling clean and hopeful, yet some how nostalgic.

Sunlight streamed in the mix matched windows of the warehouse, and the inhabitants, since it was unheated, huddled in their coats for warmth.

As the sun set, three of them started to pack up. In the morning they'd be leaving for the airport. The day after that they'd be on the same flight as Darlene Simcoe, alone in the first class cabin with her.

Florence packed up her PASIV and bid them farewell.

"I'm going to need my sleep tonight." She said as she departed.

Juliet and Eames left together, and Arthur was sure they'd come in together tomorrow.

November showed no sign of leaving, as usual as he packed up his PASIV. She stared at him intently as he did so.

"Arthur."

"Hmmm?"

"How did you end up here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I imagine you didn't just stumble across shared dreaming on a google search and take it up as a hobby."

"Oh, right." He closed the top of the briefcase and leaned against it to meet her gaze. "Well, I was 18 and going to Harvard, but I hated it there. I was in on scholarship from Minnesota, and everyone else was just rich snobs who'd gone to private schools all their lives. Atleast everyone I seemed to come in contact with. So I dropped out and was living on nothing when I was recruited by a special unit of the military, the shared dreaming unit. That's where I met Eames and Florence and Cobb and hundreds of others. When the shared dreaming unit was shut down, all of us who were completely addicted to it grabbed a PASIV and spread out, corporate espionage calling. Those who could have tracked us down looked the other way because they wanted their dream, no pun intended, to live on, no matter what form. Extraction took off in popularity among big business owners, and so we could make a decent living. Perhaps not the most legitimate, but we're not the legitimate kind of people." He smirked. "The government either doesn't know, or looks the other way."

November smiled. "Quite a story. Tis a shame that the government isn't quite as forgiving for hacking. I have to take the upmost security precautions to stay anonymous because there's quite a bounty on my business. Luckily no one who's ever employed me knows my name, face, voice or contact info. There's no way they's ever find me. That's the thing with hacking. College kids can do it, and so can a lot of others. The only way to make any money is to be _very_ good at it, and know what you're doing. That's the only reason I have a job."

Arthur grinned at her. "That's why I'm so impressed with you. You have something that you're unbeatable at, and in theory, you could do the rest of your life without complication. You're so smart you've though ahead to everything, given yourself insurance and relaxation all in one. Honestly, you're more amazing."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't pretend like you're not the best at your job. And you can do it for as long as you like, too."

"See, that's where you're wrong." He said, moving closer to her. She slid down from her perch on the table to face him. "I can't, if I ever want to get married or have a family. Powerful people don't like it when you botch jobs, and sometimes you can't help it. I'd never be able to keep a family safe and continue working." His face was full of sorrow.

"Well, maybe you could have a family." November gave him a sly smile. "If the girl knew what she was signing up for, and had a fair amount of experience keeping herself, and others, safe."

"And who might this mysterious girl be?" Arthur asked, grinning, though he already knew the answer.

"Guess." She replied, and he leaned down to kiss her. As their lips met, she slipped her arms around his neck, and felt his arms encircle her waist. They held into eachother for a long time, never disentangling their lips.

"WELL IT'S ABOUT TIME!" Eames boomed, emerging from the shadowy entrance to the warehouse, and snapping a phone shut. The couple broke apart, but not all the way.

"Eames! What the _fuck _you doing here?" Arthur said furiously.

"I forgot my coat." Eames replied with a smirk. "But I'm bloody thankful I did." Eames waved the phone. "That is going on Youtube."

"Dammit, Eames. So help me I'll-"

"Arthur, relax." November interrupted. "The only way we're gonna get that phone destroyed is if we keep our heads."

Without further adieu, they tackled Eames and wrestled the cell phone out of his hand. Before long it was crushed under November's heeled boot.

Unfortunately for them, Eames had already sent the video to everyone Arthur knew, including Cobb, Florence, Yusuf, and Ariadne. He didn't let them know that though. Arthur would figure it out soon enough when he got the texts.

Grumbling about his disintegrated phone, Eames left, without his coat.

Arthur walked November back to her hotel room.

"When this is all over," She said to him. "And we're back to our normal lives, or as normal as our lives get, come and find me. I can take the risks."

"You may be able to, but I can't." He sighed. "I'm not gonna put you in danger."

"Fuck that. I'm already in danger all the time that's how I like it. Now, shut up and kiss me goodnight."

He leaned into the kiss, and knew that his willpower had been melted. He couldn't stay away. Nor did he want to.

c c c

Ariadne received the text message from a familiar englishmen as she was eating a late dinner in her London flat.

It had been a long day at work, her mind had wandered constantly to other subjects.

_Dinner...sleeping...dreaming...Arthur..._

All thoughts lead back to dreaming, and by extension, Arthur. Was she still in love with him? No. That was one of the few things she was sure of. Did she want to dream? So badly. Did she want to leave her job? Not at all. Did she want to live the life of an extractor? Not in the slightest.

Her smartphone buzzed and slid across the table. She grabbed it before it leaped toward the floor.

She watched the short, crude video. The quality was poor, but it was obvious who the guy was. She stopped it halfway through, not needing to see more.

Ariadne sighed, a melancholy feeling washing over her. She wasn't sure why- she didn't want Arthur back, and was happy he was moving on, but not completely. She felt left behind. Why couldn't she move on, too?

She picked up her phone again, deleting Eames' text and going to her contacts. Choosing the person she needed most right now, she waited. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" Cobb said.

It was time to get on with her life. Make a move. Love doesn't wait.


	10. Likewise

Finally, they were ready.

They gathered in the warehouse at dawn, carrying a small bag of some sort each. In November's black backpack she had two laptops and a sweater. Plus her wallet and passport. Some of them had to make their own passports, due to anonymity.

They spread their passports out on one of the tables to make sure they all looked legitimate. They were all their real names, just not necessarily the right country of origin or birth date. They didn't want to seem connected in anyway, because once they were on the plane to Tokyo, they were just random strangers to Darlene Simcoe.

November glanced over each of them. _November Ayushmati Patel. Arthur Demetri Whindleton. Simon Gilbert Eames. Juliet Rosalie Butler. Florence Grayson Weaver._

All the passports looked perfect. November already knew this. She'd made them. It was a simple matter, once you'd had some practice.

They packed away their passports and stood in a loose circle in silence. Once they stepped out of this building, it was every man for himself until they were in the dream. They'd keep an eye on eachother, but couldn't have any contact so they wouldn't be suspicious.

"Gentlemen, ladies," Arthur said, feeling he needed to say something. "Whatever happens in the next 24 hours, it's been an honor."

"Likewise." Eames said, and everyone nodded in agreement. Nothing else could be said.

They left the warehouse one at a time at random intervals and caught cabs to the airport. Arthur was the last to leave, November just before him.

"See you on the other side." She said, and kissed him quickly before letting the warehouse door slam behind her.

Arthur waited 15 minutes, and then departed.

_Author's Note: Short chapter but shall post soon! Bonus question! Does any history freak out there (like me) know how I chose Eames' middle name? (Hint: is something to do with my pen name and the french pronunciation of Gilbert)._


	11. Ease

The Charles De Gaulle airport was more jammed than usual.

It was a weekend, and midmorning, the ideal time to travel. The weather was crisp and sunny, also ideal for travel. It was good, though, they could blend in with the crowd and pretend they didn't know eachother easily.

Unfortunately, there were no direct flights to Los Angeles, so they'd be connecting through Chicago O'Hare, which they would almost certainly be delayed in. It was Chicago. It was a given. But they had a schedule to maintain, and though Chicago was a wild card, but it was their best option.

November sighed as she unpacked her two laptops for security. Such a pain. In central America all you had to do throw your bag through an x-ray. You kept your shoes on, your liquids in your toilet kit and your laptops in your backpack. But then again, in Central America you'd always get secondary searched before boarding.

To her left, she heard Eames' voice protesting against the throwing away of his whiskey. The security women studiously ignored him. November had a momentary thought that she could get along with that woman.

She found her gate and settled down with a breakfast biscuit and a cup of coffee. She had about 45 minutes till they called boarding, so she pulled out a laptop to work on computer program she'd been planning to eventually market.

Juliet was already at the gate, and had her phone out. Florence was next, her size and confident stride drawing eyes her way. Arthur showed up after that, feet barely making a sound, and lastly Eames, who in his usual mix matched suit and barely shaven face, looked like a walking advertisement for the evilness of nicotine and alcohol.

The flight to Chicago went smoothly. An 8 and a half hour flight, they arrived in the evening. An hour later the plane to LAX was boarding, and surprisingly, they made it out of Chicago on time. 4 hours later they touched down in Los Angeles. The flight to Tokyo Narita left in the morning, so November found a hotel room and passed out.

c c c

Arthur walked wearily from the jetway and into the LAX airport. It was close to midnight, and he could still hear the hum of voices and see people milling around.

Jet lagged and just overall tired, he missed the brown haired girl at first, but quickly did a double take.

There she was, without a doubt. 5 foot nothing, wavy brown hair, determined stride. What a coincidence that they should end up halfway around the world together. In fact, why _was_ Ariadne in Los Angeles?

Eames had seen her too, and the two men exchanged a glance before following her toward baggage claim. They stayed a safe distance from her, just out of her line of sight.

They went as far as they could without leaving the terminal, but watched from baggage claim as she waited a few moments on the curb before a blue sidan pulled up, and Dominic Cobb got out. He hugged Ariadne.

Eames glanced at Arthur, gauging his reaction. Arthur expected to feel jealous, but... the feeling didn't come. All he could think was... that he was happy she had found someone who suited her better. Like he had.

They trudged back up the stairs, a few people apart. Arthur knew he'd be questioned by Eames when they could finally talk to eachother again, and he'd tell the truth. There was no point lying, or refusing to talk about it. He felt at ease. Peaceful. And as he passed November, who dared to make eye contact, that feeling intensified.

_Author's note: Shortish chapter, but whatever. If you wanna know the full story of why Ariadne was in LA, I wrote a one-shot about her and Cobb called "In Search of Peace". Please Review! :)_


	12. Into the Dream

Arthur waited at the gate in Los Angeles, eyes peeled for Darlene Simcoe. The others were just as vigilant, looking up every few seconds from their average activities to check for her. They had recent pictures of her, and knew she wouldn't have any kind of bodyguards. She'd just look like any other business women on a trip to do what her profession demanded.

She arrived half an hour before the flight was due to board. She was probably 45, reasonably in shape wearing a skirt, blazer, and white button-up shirt with high heels. Her light brown hair was pulled up in a carefully styled bun, and her face was adorned with plenty of make-up.

Arthur met the eyes of each of the team members discreetly, making sure they were all aware that it was crunch time. The eagle had landed.

Simcoe took a seat and pulled out an iPhone, crossing her legs. Very business like. She didn't look up from the phone till they called for first class to board.

The plane was a Boeing 747. Just like in the Fischer Job, they's bought out the first class cabin and flight attendant using the ridiculous amount of money November had saved up from her hacking. Since it had worked so well in inception, Arthur knew it was probably the best option for deflection.

They took their seats, and Arthur, sitting just behind Darlene, saw her order a Chardonnay almost immediately. The flight attendant immediately went to get it after the massive plane took off. As she came back in, just on cue, she paused by Arthur for the half a second it took for him to slip a sedative into the beverage. Darlene, looking out the window as LA got smaller beneath them, was oblivious.

A week before the flight, Arthur had contacted Yusuf, who had sent them the amount of sedative needed for the job. Because they were friends, Yusuf had given it to him for free. He also mentioned that it was a reward for "finally getting some action". Arthur still having no idea that Eames had sent the text, had no idea what he was referring to.

10 minutes later Darlene was out cold. The flight attendant returned with a PASIV, Arthur's, which was least glitchy. She closed the curtains that hung from the entrances to the first class cabin as the team rose from their seats, pulling out the PASIV's cords.

Arthur carefully slipped the needle in the main artery of Darlene's wrist. In his peripheral he sees November settling into her seat, clutching her totem- an old gold compass that she wears around her neck. She says she's modified it so that only she knows it secrets, though she didn't make it.

Once Darlene's all hooked up, Arthur settles back into his chair, sliding the needle in with practiced ease. Looking up, he sees the others are ready, the flight attendant poised over the PASIV, finger over the button. He nods at her, and then they are dreaming.


	13. Level One

They were running up faded brown stairs. They'd been painted brown it seemed, but were rubbing away to reveal the rotting wood below. The walls were an off white, and peeling. The window on each landing let in grey afternoon light.

Arthur reached the fifth floor penthouse landing first, to find the apartment door locked. It had a complex key pad lock. He turned to November, who was carrying a netbook.

"It's locked." He said, as though that wasn't obvious.

"I know." She replied mildly, getting down on her knees and opening the tiny laptop. "You didn't think Darlene's subconscious would just let you in like an old friend, do you?"

"Did you have to make it such a complex lock?" He asked.

"No, but I like a challenge." She answered, plugging a cord into the lock that was connected to her computer.

Arthur shrugged. No arguing with that logic.

"Hey" Juliet said, looking over the railing down the stairwell as she drew the hand gun from her coat. "We got hostiles coming in."

Projections were climbing the stairs stealthily, machine guns raised, wearing black military uniforms. Darlene's militarized subconscious didn't miss much.

Except for November, whose fingers were flying over her keyboard, everyone drew their weapons. Juliet and Florence started to move toward the projections.

"Careful," Eames called to them softly. "You know what happens if you die."

Juliet fixed him a with a hard, yet gentle, stare, her blonde pony tail as bouncy as ever. She gave him a swift nod, and opened fire on the projections.

There were so many that they continued to surge forward, until Florence and Juliet were fighting them tooth and nail. And they were doing a kick ass job too.

November's fingers continued to fly across the keys, faster than Arthur had seen anyone type before in his life. He guessed it was skill she had really needed to perfect.

He heard gunfire start up again, and Eames cried out in pain. Arthur rushed toward him as he crumpled to the ground.

"Eames? Where're you hit?" He said leaning over the englishmen, whose teeth were gritted.

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL!" Eames belted out. "The shoulder! The shoulder!"

Arthur could hear the panic rising in the man's throat. Blood spread across his dress shirt.

"Shit." Arthur muttered under his breath as Eames writhed in pain, letting out his own string of swearwords. "November, how's that lock coming?"

Arthur looked over just in time to see a large projection come up behind her. Her mind completely focused on her task, she doesn't realize he's there until, he yanks her up by her arm, putting a beefy hand around her throat. Her surprise only lasts a second, though, before she kicks the projection in the balls and elbows him across the face. His grasp switches to her fingers, which he breaks in a swift twist of his wrist. November cried out, just as Arthur managed to get over to her and shoot the projection in the head.

November face was crumpled in pain, two fingers on her left hand bloody and crooked.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked frantically, showing more emotion than he did for most.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Make sure Eames is ok. I almost got the door. It harder than I thought. I'm too smart for my own good." She said through gritted teeth. She bent down and started typing again, using only 8 fingers.

Arthur hurried back over to Eames, who was sweating and looked faint. His injury wasn't life threatening, though it would need seeing to.

"I got it!" November cried from his left. She closed her net book and opened the door, holding it open for the others.

Juliet joined Arthur in helping Eames over the threshold, with Florence shooting projections trying to follow as she brought up the rear. November scampered in after her, slamming the door behind her and re-locking it.

Darlene Simcoe was lying leisurely on the daybed of the sunny front room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a magazine in the other. She looked startled as they barged in.

"Wha? Who? Who are you?" She spluttered.

"Florence, make sure she doesn't leave." Arthur ordered as he eased Eames on to the daybed as he swore.

Juliet eyes were two pools of worry. "I can try to do emergency first aid." She told Arthur. "But I can only do so much with limited supplies."

"November, where's the first aid kit?" Arthur called over his shoulder.

"In the kitchen cabinet above the stove." She said as she helped Florence hold on to a kicking and screaming Darlene. He could hear the projections trying to break down the door, shooting at it. Luckily, they'd planned for this. The door was stronger then it looked.

Arthur rushed through the small, sparsely decorated apartment. Gray light flooded in. In the tiny, messy kitchen, Arthur reached up above the stove and pulled out a red first aid kit before sprinting back to Juliet and Eames. Once Juliet was working on Eames' shoulder, Arthur turned to November.

"Where's the safe?" He asked breathlessly.

"In the bedroom." She replied. "The closet across from the windows."

She lead the way back into the bedroom, Arthur then Florence and Darlene behind him. November opened the closet, revealing a small black safe.

Arthur pulled out a hand gun, and aimed it at Darlene's head. It was complete bravado, of course. But it had the desired effect. Darlene shut right up.

"What's the combination?" He asked her coldly.

"I don't know!" She stuttered, terror swimming in her eyes.

"You do, now tell us." November glared at her.

"I swear, I don't!" Darlene cried, tears swimming her eyes.

Arthur and November exchanged a glance. November nodded, ever so slightly.

"The first 6 numbers that come to your head." Arthur demanded.

"I don't know!"

"Do as I say."

"One-eight-nine-two-seven-four!" She sobbed. November swiveled the numbers into the lock. It opened immediately.

Inside was a slip of paper, folded once horizontally.

"Got it." November said. Arthur lowered the gun pointed at Darlene's head and joined November in front of the safe.

Darlene's sobs quieted to whimpers as the gun went out of her line of vision. She struggled half heartedly in Florence's grasp.

Arthur reached into the safe, pulling out the slip of paper. November scooted closer to him, their shoulders touching as they read the implanted idea.

_Benford Enterprises needs me back._

November pulled out a pen, and added into the sentence.

_Benford Enterprises does not need me._

They folded the paper again, and put it back in the safe of Darlene's deep subconscious.

"One down, two to go." Arthur breathed. They stood.

"Thank you, Miss Simcoe." He said, before leaving the bedroom. November followed, then Florence, practically dragging Darlene.

In the front room, Juliet's hands were covered in blood, and Eames was swearing. She had his shirt off, and was wrapping gauze around his shoulder wound. She finished laying a hand on his chest.

"How is he?" Arthur asked as he approached.

"He'll live, I think." She said softly, as Eames breathed heavily. "And he'll get better as we go down."

"Good, we need to get going." Arthur turned to Florence. "You ready?"

She stopped in the middle of duct taping Darlene's mouth shut. "Yeah, you guys go."

"November, where's the PASIV?"

"Under the piano."

Arthur reached under the front room's grand piano and pulled out the heavily enforced suit case.

"Get comfortable, people." He said, unwinding the cords. "And Florence," He looked up at her as he sat back on the floor. "Good luck."

"The same to you."

November slid a needle into Eames' arm, and handed a cord to Juliet, before sliding a needle into her own vein.

Florence pressed the button, and down they went.


	14. Level Two

The grass was green beneath November's boots. An perfect healthy color.

Rain clouds overhead split open and soon it was pouring. The quartet ran for the cover of a nearby tree.

She pulled the golden compass from her pocket.

It pointed north, which meant she was in another's dream. Juliet's to be exact. The compass was broken in reality, but she was the only one that knew that. It was also not real gold, though it looked a hell of a lot like the light weighted mineral. It was pure silver beneath, covered with a thin layer of gold leaf, making it heavier than it looked. The silver was also an effective way of anchoring one to their current dimension. You can never be to careful.

She latched the compass around her neck once again.

"Where is the safe?" Arthur asked.

"In the cottage by the cliff." November replied.

"In that direction." Juliet added, pointing toward a clump of bushes to their left. They set off on foot.

November looked down at her fingers. The two broken ones were still crooked and covered in dried blood, but hurt a lot less. Eames seemed to be keeping up well, though he was carrying his hurt arm slightly away from his body, careful not jostle it.

They trudged through the wet greenery of the forest undergrowth. November watched the pant legs of Arthur's 3 piece suit grow wetter and wetter, as she felt the cold grip on the ends of her own pants. Luckily, soon a small cottage came into view.

It was in a small clearing, surrounded on three sides by towering pine trees. On one side the there was a steep cliff. It looked like the setting of a fairy tale, but that's what she'd been going for when she'd designed the details. The cliff was perfect for the kick.

They pulled their weapons, waiting in the shadows. There subject, Darlene, would be inside the cottage, which was heavily guarded by her subconscious. Juliet, who was the best sniper, picked up her machine gun and picked off the closest projection. Then another. And another. Until all those patrolling around were gone.

They hustled forward, hand guns pointed at the ground. Juliet broke down the door with one well aimed kick, breaking it off it's hinges. Eames whistled longingly, and she smiled at him over her shoulder.

They moved silently, weapons raised, scanning the room. In the breakfast nook attached to the kitchen, Darlene sat with an eBook and a cup of coffee. What was this women and coffee? She must have had a yearning for a cup in reality before she went into the dream.

She looked up at them, eyes wide. She wouldn't remember the dream before hand, it took a concentrated effort, something Darlene wouldn't know to have.

"Good morning, Miss Simcoe." Arthur said. "How are you this morning?"

"Who are you people?"

"Ahh, you don't remember us. Good. Just making sure, for anonymity's sake." He lowered his gun, ever so slightly, giving her an easy smile. "Would you mind coming with us for a few moments?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you people!" She cried.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, you'll be coming with us one way or another. November, where's the safe?"

"Under the bathroom sink."

"Alright then. Eames, Juliet, if you'd please escort Miss Simcoe to the bathroom."

"No problem." Juliet said, hoisting her machine gun and signaling for Darlene to get up. She did as she was told immediately.

Why the sudden civility on Arthur's part, November was unsure. Perhaps it was the absence of projections making things difficult that had calmed him. The majority of projections seemed to be strangely absent, which was causing the slightest worry in the back of November's mind as she lead the way to the bathroom. Arthur was behind her, followed by Darlene, who was being gently nudged in the back by Juliet's machine gun if she started to lag.

In the bathroom, she squatted down in front of the sink, opening the small cabinet beneath. The little black safe was there, exactly like before. The combination was the safe- the flight number. November typed it in quickly. The paper inside was the same, folded in half. It read:

_Without Benford Enterprises, I am nothing._

November pulled out a pen and altered the idea.

_Without Benford Enterprises, I am everything._

She replaced the slip of paper and closed the safe."Let's go."

They headed toward the living room, which contained several cushy leather pieces of furniture.

Sitting Darlene down in one, they stuck the needle in her and dealt with their own. Juliet had her arms around Eames' waist as they stood facing eachother.

"Be careful." She told him. He nodded, and kissed her quickly.

"What the fuck is going on?" Darlene interrupted.

"You are really loud." November told her.

And then they were under again.

c c c

Level one, Florence's POV:

The projections were pounding on the door, completely in vain. Looking out the front windows, Florence could see more and more swarming into the building.

"Irritating vermin." She muttered, in french, to herself. It was her native language, though she had not been born there. She finished duct taping the five sleeping people together- she thought it would be neater for the kick- and lugged them toward the window seat, opening the large European windows wide. She looked at her watch, heard the music inside her head just beginning.

"Almost time." She whispered.


	15. Level Three

A projection droned on at the head of the conference table. The room was bleak, except for a wall of slightly tinted windows looking out over a city.

They were dressed business formal, not exactly best for their task ahead, but necessary in their attempt to blend in. November's hair was pulled back in a neat pony tail, except for two delicate strands out front.

Eames sat three to her right, across the table. Arthur was four to her left, on her side of the shiny table. The meeting seemed to end, but November wasn't really paying attention. They all stood. In the hallway, they walked in separate directions, but ended up in a small alcove where they could talk privately.

"Do I have what I need down there?" Eames whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, the charges are in a neat little pile on the parking deck." November replied. "Are you sure your up to this?"

"My shoulder's a lot better. We can go according to plan." Eames answered. "Good luck to you both." He added and disappeared toward the elevator.

November looked to Arthur. "Let's get a move on." 

They hurried down the hall, Arthur leading. It was his dream, after all. When they arrived at the door to the largest office in the building, where Darlene would be. They pulled their hand guns and burst in. Darlene sat at the massive desk, yet another up of coffee in her hand.

That's when they noticed the atleast 12 guards standing at the edges of the room, all armed.

"Shit." said Arthur, and they launched themselves into a fight.

It soon became a blur of blood and noise and fear and pain. They swore, they screamed, the shot. There is no need for the gruesome details of a textbook firefight. They were finishing up, the two dreamers, spattered in blood and panting, when she felt the unexpected presence.

The fingers entangled in hair, yanking her back so far she fell to her knees. She soon felt the cold butt of a gun against her neck.

_Perfect._ November thought. _Just Perfect._

Arthur elbowed the projection he had by the lapels and let him drop to the floor. He looked over, the slightest bit of a victorious smile on his face, which died as soon as it had sprung up when he saw her in the tight spot she was silently cursing herself for falling into.

Shock spread across Arthur's face, and then a flash of emotion that November thought might have been fear. But either way his face hardened in complete and utter loathing as he looked at the projection standing directly behind her.

Darlene, curled up under her desk in terror, was staring wide eyed at the three people in her office, unable to move. As they had fought the projections they'd made sure not to hit her. For her to fall into Limbo at this point would be terrible. For one of the team to fall into Limbo was less of a crisis because, first, they were professionals, and second, the job prevailed above all else. This was what was running through November's head as she surveyed her situation grimly.

"Let her go." Arthur said evenly. Darlene stared.

The projection said nothing. He didn't have a brain, so his blankness was not surprising. He knew how to do one thing only; kill.

That's when the shit really hit the fan. The defecation connected with the oscillator. The manure hit the air circulator. Take your pick.

Arthur didn't hesitate. In a nanosecond he launched himself from four feet away, arms out, murderous glare in his eyes. His hands connected with the collar bone of them projection behind her, sending him flying backward. Unfortunately, he had the presence of mind to fire to shots, hitting November in the back. Two rapid fire shots. Very military.

Arthur's fingers closed around the projection's trachea, and he didn't let up until he'd planted a bullet in the man's brain. He turned around sharply, to see November lying on her stomach, unable to move, barely able to breathe as blood spread across her shoulder blades.

"The safe." She choked out, as he knelt beside her, stunned at what had happened in less than a second. "Shoot me, put me out of my misery, and get the job done."

Arthur immediately shook his head in horror. "No, I'm not going to shoot you. You can make it. You can."

"How much time do we have?"

Arthur spared a glance at his watch. "6 minutes."

She shook her head painfully. "One of 'em hit the spinal cord. I've lost feeling below the waist. Can barely keep my eyes open. Send me to Limbo. I'll meet you on top in 50 years."

"NO."

"Jesus, Arthur. Put me out of my fucking misery."

"No, no. You can do this. Just 6 minutes." He argued no longer, hurrying toward the safe, thinking one thought.

_She cannot die. So help me, she will not._

He tweaked the idea in the safe, as Darlene looked on in stunned silence, still huddling under her desk. When he was done, he had three minutes left till Eames brought the building down. He returned to November's side. She was barely conscious as he lifted her gently so he could hold onto her.

"Almost there." He whispered, as she struggled to hold onto life. "Almost there."

c c c

Eames glanced at his watch, just after planting the last charge in the basement parking garage. Satisfied everything was in the right place, he walked swiftly toward the elevator. He went up six floors, then pressed the emergency stop button. When the building came crashing down, the elevator would too, and that way Eames would not be crushed, or atleast not quite yet.

A minute to go, and he squatted down in the elevator, making himself as small as possible. He pulled the remote from his pocket, and counted down.

10 seconds later, he pressed the button, and the building came falling down around him.

c c c

Level Two:

Juliet finished moving the sleeping forms of her comrades to the edge of the cliff. It had been grueling work, dragging each of them from the cottage to the cliff. But she'd gotten them there, with 30 seconds to spare. She braced herself to push them all off at the same time, counting down steadily in her head.

At 1 second, she started to push, and at 0, they fell over the edge, and she went with them.

c c c

Level One:

Florence had five seconds as she climbed onto the window ledge with her sleeping team. 5 stories below, a massive flat back truck full of mattresses waited. Insurance, you could say.

1 second, then none. She kicked the others out the window, and then jumped herself.

c c c

Level Three:

Arthur felt the building shake, and held onto November tighter. Soon he felt the falling feeling he had felt so many times. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes opened and he saw the gray rock of a cliff flying past. Less than a second later he opened his eyes and saw mattresses rushing toward him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a first class seat.


	16. Reunited

After everything that had just happened, it was hard to reacquaint themselves with the real world. Eyes adjusting to light coming in through the big first class windows, they looked around. The flight attendant was busily stuffing the briefcase in a compartment above the serving station, looking clammy and nervous. It was probably the worst thing she'd ever done, and she didn't even know what it was.

Eames stretched in his spacious seat, rotating his completely healed shoulder. Florence cracked her massive knuckles loudly, and chuckled to herself at the recently awakened Darlene, who didn't looked alarmed at all. As though she had just taken a refreshing nap. She would remember nothing of the ordeal, not a name, not a face, not a feeling. But her subconscious would, and it would take action as the tweaked idea grew.

November reached behind her back for the third time, making sure that the two bullets were genuinely gone. The skin was smooth, and not a trace of blood stained her clothes. She blinked. This was unreal. Never a better time to get mortally injured, if she did say so herself.

She looked at Arthur, making sure Darlene was focused on her laptop. They exchanged a victorious grin. The job had gotten done, the only major screw up had been overcome.

The plane landed. They left the plane separately, and, as they had already decided, they split off in as many directions as possible. Arthur spent the two weeks traveling all over the world, choosing random places everyday to fly to. He could chose anywhere, no boundaries. A large sum of money had been added to his account by Dale Industries a few hours after they landed in Tokyo.

The last leg of his journey was Hong Kong to Paris. A 12 hour flight.

Upon arrival in the De Gaulle airport, he felt weightless, like nothing could touch him. He hadn't felt so accomplished since the Fischer Job. It was early evening when he arrived at the warehouse. He was the last one to arrive, the others probably had shorter flights.

Not surprisingly, November was sitting on a table.

It was just like the planning stages again, coming into the darkened warehouse and seeing she'd beat him there, as usual. He was hit by a wave of nostalgia. He'd missed her.

Juliet was sitting in Eames' lap, while Florence made fun of them in a playful way.

When he came into view, November leaped from her perch and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I was starting to worry." She said into his shoulder.

"No need." He replied. "To many loose ends to be tied up. I would never get killed at such an inconvenient time."

She laughed softly.

Florence slapped him on the back, giving him her hundred watt grin. Eames stood and gave him a hug, Juliet kissing him on the cheek. The team was united once again.

Eames produced a bottle of champagne from thin air, along with 5 glasses to go with it. He popped the cork and started messily pouring the beige liquid into the glasses.

"To victory." He said, raising his glass. The others followed suit.

_To the beginning and the end_. Thought Arthur as he sipped his drink.

c c c

He stumbled back to his five star hotel a little after six am.

They talked and drank and dreamed and made out all night. It had been satisfying, a proper celebration.

The early sunlight was just starting to stream through the windows when Arthur fell onto the couch in his tastefully decorated room. It looked like a monarch's writing room, with big windows and heavy drapes. The only other thing Arthur could observe with his blinding headache was how expensive the furniture looked.

He noticed something on the coffee table. Something the size of a business card. He picked it up hesitantly.

_RoseThorn Enterprises _was all it said. It had a simple outline of a rose, and arrow had been added in pen, pointing toward the door of the adjoining sweet.

He stood, clutching the business card, and walked toward the heavy door, finding it unlocked.

The next sweet was very similar to his, but someone was waiting for him.

"You found me." Was all November said before he kissed her.

And Arthur was complete.


	17. Epilogue

Epilogue, 1 year later:

The phone rings, earning a collective groan from the occupants of the bed.

"It's for you."

"Hmph."

Arthur picks up the cellphone, eyes too bleary to read the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Arthur. It's Eames."

"What the fuck? It's 3 am!"

"What? Oh, 10 pm here."

"Don't care. Call me back in 7 hours." He starts to hang up.

"NO! Wait, Arthur, since you're here I gotta tell you the good news!"

"Jesus Ch-"

"I proposed to Juliet and she said yes!" The words came out fast and clumped together. Eames sounded more excited than Arthur had ever heard him.

"Oh, um, good?"

"You don't sound excited."

"I have no idea what you just said." Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to get his brain to work.

"I'm getting married! Also I want you to be the best man."

"Oh, that's great, Eames. Good to hear." And he meant it, though when tired, it's hard to convey emotion properly.

"So you'll be the best man?"

"Yes, of course."

"Okay, okay." Eames said breathlessly, his voice still exhilarated. "I'll call you back tomorrow."

"Good bye, Eames." He hung up.

November turned to face him, eyes half closed. "So, Eames is marrying Juliet?"

"How'd you guess?" Arthur slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her across the sheets toward him, smiling softly.

"Intuition." She muttered, leaning her forehead against his. "So that puts you in yet another wedding in the next few months."

"What can I say? People like my carefree attitude." They laughed softly. "Though I am surprised at Eames choosing me. Dom and Ariadne, I see why I'd be there best man, but Eames, things seem to always get ugly."

"That's where your wrong." November said. "What I've noticed is the constant berating and irritation is how men show affection. Though some are too slow to analyze their own actions."

"I saw what you did there." He grinned at her.

"Good, then you're less slow then I originally hypothesized."

"Banter even after we've been together for a year." He chuckled.

"It's one of the signs of a healthy relationship." She smirked. "And if you can't banter with your boyfriend, who can you banter with?"

"You have a point."

He leaned in ever so slightly till their lips met.

"Hey," He said after a moment. "Will you marry me?"

She grinned. "I totally saw that coming. The answer's yes. But you already knew that."

"Call it intuition."

_Author's Note: Well, there you go. That's the end. Hoped you enjoyed it! Please Review! :)_


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